


Merciless

by manic_intent



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas prompts, Giovanni x Maria is a tangential canon pairing, M/M, Main pairing is GioLor, That fix it AU where Giovanni lives, and I guess Ezio never becomes the main character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 17:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13012326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: “You’re tired,” Mario told him, once Giovanni walked to the desk. “Go and sleep.” Mario had grown stout and bearlike instead of lean and tall like Giovanni, and his face was craggy with scars. As Giovanni stared, Mario scratched under his eyepatch, yawning. He’d been roused out of bed, and was still rumpled in an old doublet, hastily pulled on. Silver was creeping into his dark, short-cropped hair, just like the silver in Giovanni’s. They were two ageing eagles, unhappy at roost.“I’ve tried.” Claudia and Petruccio had slept instantly, but he’d left Ezio comforting Maria and Federico stabling their lathered horses.“Your gear?”“Still in the secret room in the house.”“Pah.” Mario pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Well, no matter. The hidden blade device was broken anyway, and I have blades to spare. What happened? Your master turned on you?”





	Merciless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jonphaedrus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonphaedrus/gifts).



> Christmas Prompt 1/5: Assassin’s Creed 2, Giovanni x Lorenzo: A Giovanni lives!au to canon of AC2. 
> 
> I’ve actually already written a short story for this, albeit anonymously, in the long-dead Asscreed kink meme, though in that story Lorenzo saves Giovanni at the last minute. I suppose to change things up I’ll have Giovanni just escape with the whole fam to Monteriggioni.
> 
> For those people reading this with no context about AC2 or these characters, watch this vid first https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vcE8xJkK6t4 (cw: medieval torture scene)

Once his family was settled in, Giovanni met Mario in his brother’s study. The room was just as Giovanni remembered it, peppered with pages from the diaries of assassins long dead, the great desk littered with fort upkeep ledgers and reports. The fort had begun its slow slide into disrepair along with the slide in their family fortune: the garden grounds that the study opened out to were unkempt, the watchtowers manned but worn, many structures within the embrace of the old walls abandoned. A banker’s income could only do so much.

“You’re tired,” Mario told him, once Giovanni walked to the desk. “Go and sleep.” Mario had grown stout and bearlike instead of lean and tall like Giovanni, and his face was craggy with scars. As Giovanni stared, Mario scratched under his eyepatch, yawning. He’d been roused out of bed, and was still rumpled in an old doublet, hastily pulled on. Silver was creeping into his dark, short-cropped hair, just like the silver in Giovanni’s. They were two ageing eagles, unhappy at roost. 

“I’ve tried.” Claudia and Petruccio had slept instantly, but he’d left Ezio comforting Maria and Federico stabling their lathered horses. 

“Your gear?”

“Still in the secret room in the house.” 

“Pah.” Mario pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Well, no matter. The hidden blade device was broken anyway, and I have blades to spare. What happened? Your master turned on you?” 

Mario’s lip curled in distaste. Giovanni reminded himself that he was here on his brother’s charity, even if Giovanni’s money funded the meagre upkeep of the fort, and kept a careful hold on his temper. “I don’t know yet.”

“So why did you run?” 

“I had a bad feeling.” Besides, the Medici—like all of their ilk—were ruthless: they had not come to hold power out of grace. “One of Paola’s women came by to warn me. They’d seen the Medici guards coming. Overheard them mentioning my address. Staged a distraction while one of them rushed to my door.”

“Thank God for that. Sounds like you were right to run.” Mario exhaled loudly. “Well, what now? Monteriggioni isn’t impregnable. If il Magnifico is out for blood, he’ll get it.”

“I know. I’m going to head back to Firenze tomorrow. Talk to Uberto, to Paola. I need to find out what happened.”

“And if il Magnifico wants blood?” Mario narrowed his eyes. He exhaled again when Giovanni didn’t answer. “You’re fond of him, I know. Served him since he was a boy, yes? But think this through. Think of your family.” 

“I know. I do.” Family was why Giovanni had chosen to run, rather than throw himself at Lorenzo’s mercy.

“Go back to Firenze then. Talk to Paola first, I think. I know, Uberto is a good friend, but I don’t trust lawyers. Especially self-taught lawyers.”

“Fine, fine. Look after my boys. Try to keep Federico and Ezio from following me. And…” Giovanni trailed off, looking around the study.

“It was long past time for them to know,” Mario said, though not unkindly. “You could not keep it from them forever.” At Giovanni’s slow nod, Mario sat back in his chair. “I’ll start training them tomorrow then. Petruccio can join in, or he can help me with the upkeep of the fort. Since he has a good head for numbers.”

“Claudia and Maria—”

“Can do what they like. Cazzo, I’ve never been good at getting women to listen to me anyway. Usually it’s the other way around.”

“You’ll let Claudia join the training?” 

“What? Who said that? She wants to? She’s a young lady! My precious only baby niece. Why would she want to ruin her hands? Bad enough that you made me teach her how to ride like a man.” Mario scowled. “She wore breeches. Breeches. My baby niece! I tell you, Florentines are a bad influence. The worst. You should have had all your children fostered out here.” 

“All right, Mario, I was only speaking in jest.” 

“Yes, yes, very funny. Don’t get yourself killed. And you’d better talk to Maria before you go.”

Giovanni grinned. “I’ve never understood why you were afraid of her.”

“The right word isn’t fear, it’s respect. _Respect_. Now go away and fix your own mess.” 

Maria was not asleep, tired as she was. They lay together in the bed, the sheets musty, seldom turned, and she listened quietly as Giovanni related what he had decided, and what they would do next. “Petruccio will want to join his brothers. We’ll give him a day, then gently push him towards the ledgers. He’ll be happier with those. He’s a gentle soul, our Petruccio.” 

_Not like you_ , were the words left unsaid. Giovanni kissed Maria’s forehead. Of all their children, only Petruccio truly took after their mother. As to the others, even Claudia—Giovanni had known them for what they were once they were born, with their gold-flecked eyes, just like his. Eagle children. “It would have come to this eventually.” 

“Yes,” Maria said, and as always, folded her pain and uncertainty behind a calm mask, a gentle smile. Federico should have begun training at eighteen. Younger, if Mario had his way. But Maria had to have hers, and here they were now, displaced from the city she loved, stealing away like thieves in the night, perhaps never to return. “Be careful,” she said, and clasped Giovanni’s hands. 

“Always.” 

“And always you lie,” Maria told him, turning her cheek. 

“Maria—”

“I know that you must do what you do,” Maria said, which was not forgiveness, nor acceptance, not by any measure. She had always known. It would not have been fair otherwise. Giovanni had not expected her to understand, though she had; he had not expected her to accept it, and that she did not. She saw his work as a death sentence, one that was delayed only by luck and circumstance and time; a sentence that he would pass on to their children. It was easier to face the Reaper’s price when it had not yet been called. 

“I know,” Giovanni said. He would not ask for forgiveness, and he had never asked for acceptance. It would also not have been fair. 

“What will you do to Lorenzo?” 

“Nothing yet. I need to learn—”

“And if it turns out that he ordered your death? Our deaths?” Maria cut in, raising her chin. She did not look at him with an accusation but with sympathy, and that cut deeper. She knew this too, of course. She had always known. 

“We’ll see.” 

“Be fair.”

“To Lorenzo?” Giovanni asked, startled. 

“No! No. To yourself.” Maria poked him on the nose, and smiled when Giovanni pretended to sputter. “I don’t care about il Magnifico. But you’re always too hard on yourself.” 

“I don’t deserve you,” Giovanni told her, a common refrain, sometimes said seriously, sometimes unseriously, and today with exhausted fervour. 

“I know.” Maria’s smile faded. “That device of yours, in the chest. With the blade. It’s broken, you said.”

“Yes.” 

“I know someone who might be able to fix it. The young man who painted me that beautiful piece of the horse, Leonardo da Vinci. I’ve heard good things about him. And seen little contraptions built in his studio. I think he’s a very clever young man. I’ll give you the address.”

“All right,” Giovanni said, though he and Mario had spent years trying to fix the hidden blade, them and their father and grandfather before them. The spring mechanism wasn’t a problem, but making a blade that wouldn’t take out a finger, was. “I’ll speak to this Leonardo.”

#

Medici guardsmen had closed down their house, and had set two of their own at the entrance to guard it. Giovanni let himself in through an upper floor window, and wrinkled his nose as he surveyed the mess. The guards had been haphazard, more destructive than thorough. Many of Maria’s paintings had been thrown to the ground, ripped off their frames. Books were scattered among broken bits of furniture. They’d been looking for something. The hidden room, perhaps.

No guards indoors. Lax. Giovanni stole down to the ground floor, briefly tempted to stab the two guards shadowing his door in broad daylight, nevermind the consequences. The bloodlust shook out of him with his next breath. The guards had only been following orders. Giovanni found the hidden latch, and let himself quietly through to the hidden room. 

The books he’d have to come back for, someday: there were too many to carry, even if he left them with Paola. He dressed in his armour and buckled on his blade, then tucked the hidden blade away into a pouch. Giovanni had always felt better in assassin’s robes. Calmer. He tugged the beaked hood over his eyes, and let himself out.

He left the hidden blade with Leonardo—what a strange young man—and called on Paola, who hustled him through to a basement room. The brothel, La Rosa Colta, that Paola oversaw as Madame, den mother, business manager, and assassin bureau chief all at once was drab during the day, the velvet curtains drawn, the furniture growing worn under the unforgiving sun. _Her_ office was tidy, ledgers and scrolls stacked into shelves, inkpots and quills at the ready. Paola shooed out a young woman who had been dusting the shelves, bidding her to bring drinks, and waved Giovanni to a chair when he protested that he was only dropping by. 

“It’s good that you came to me first,” Paola said briskly, as she sat in hers.

“First?” 

“Oh, don’t play dumb. You’re very good friends with that lawyer, Uberto. I thought you’d rush over to his offices to try to get him to lodge a petition, or whatever your idea was. I’ve had teams of girls out watching his place. Even the rooftops, poor Lucerne. To try and intercept you first.”

“Why, what happened with Uberto? Is he in trouble?” 

Paola grimaced. “That man? Pah. Here,” she said, as the young woman returned with a hot cup of caffe. Paola pushed a stack of reports across the table. “Read. Then take some deep breaths and think. I’m going to have to get people to call my girls back so they can have a nice long rest after spending hours in the cold morning scanning the streets for you.” 

“You make that sound like a chore,” Giovanni said, with a grin. 

“You’re ungrateful, you and your brother, both wretches,” Paola told him, though she patted his arm as she left. 

Later, after another cup of caffe, Giovanni found Paola in the courtyard of the brothel, having a glass of wine. She raised her eyebrows when he sat at the table beside her. “So?” Paola told him. 

“I think it is a bit too early for wine.”

“Fie, you ingrate. Lecturing me in my house? Get out.” Paola toasted him, and took a pointed sip. 

“How long have you known about Uberto?” Giovanni asked, more soberly.

“It’s in the report.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I had nothing but whispers and hearsay until he met with Rodrigo Borgia last night. That—that was careless.” 

Rodrigo Borgia. His infamy preceded him, and the rumours of his cruelties and excesses were already legend. Still, it was his ambition that men feared, and it was an open secret that Rodrigo had his heart set on becoming Pope, a path that was still barred by the Medici family’s influence. Or so Giovanni had thought. Had Lorenzo struck a deal with the Borgia? “Is Rodrigo still in Firenze?”

“I doubt it. A Spanish ship set sail this afternoon for Roma. The _Esperanza_. It belongs to a trading company owned by the Borgia. But I have women out looking for him. Careful. If the Borgia have joined forces with the Medici…” 

That couldn’t be true. Or at least, Giovanni prayed that it wasn’t true. “We’ll see,” he said, his second lie in two days.

Like Maria, Paola was unconvinced. “Love and devotion are cruel creatures.” 

“Aren’t they the same?”

“Devotion can be broken. Love, however, often doesn’t answer to reason. Which creature afflicts you?”

“Why, Paola. I’m shocked. I love my family, my wife. No one else is that lucky.” A third lie. 

She sniffed. “We’ll see,” she said, imitating his tone. “You men are extravagantly useless. You should send Claudia to me for training. I’ll make a finer assassin of her than you—or her brothers and uncle—will ever be.” 

“Send my only daughter to a Madame for training, what an idea. I can’t wait to suggest that to my wife.” 

“It’s your skin,” Paola said, unimpressed. “What will you do about Uberto?”

“He’s an associate of Rodrigo who tried to have me killed. What do you think?” God, this life. Uberto, his _friend_. The world was not kind to old friendships. 

Giovanni looked away, his fingers briefly restless. Hell, Uberto’s children were friends with Giovanni’s. Giovanni had spent many nights drinking with Uberto with their wives, going to plays, going riding. Uberto had been one of Giovanni’s first friends when he had moved to Firenze with the haphazard notion of seeking his fortune: they’d met in the cheap rooming house that Giovanni had paid for, neighbours by chance, then fast friends. And now this. Damn Uberto. Damn this life.

#

The clamour had died down by the time Lorenzo returned to Firenze. Giovanni had spent the days lying low at Paola’s, exchanging pigeons with Monteriggioni. Petruccio had attempted one day’s worth of training before retiring gratefully to managing ledgers. Ezio and Federico had begun theirs in earnest, and were progressing well. As to Claudia, Claudia was a terror, a plague on their house, likely led astray by bad Florentine friends etc. Giovanni replied to that last message by reminding Mario that he’d intended to let Claudia do what she liked, and smiled to himself.

Leonardo fixed and modified the blade mechanism, chattering happily as he handed the hidden blade over. Giovanni was admiring it on his wrist when the door to the studio banged open, admitting, of all the people in the world, _Lorenzo_. 

Giovanni must have gaped. Lorenzo stared evenly at him, in his assassin’s gear, then at Leonardo, in his odd, colourful clothes, the two of them surrounded by the supreme disorder that was Leonardo’s workshop. Lorenzo was flanked by Medici guards, with more behind him, and just as Giovanni was debating whether to leave Leonardo to his own devices and make a run for it, Lorenzo beckoned, imperious. 

“Altezza,” Leonardo said, with an ingratiating smile. “What an honour. Um. I’m very nearly done with my customer here, I mean, a servant of my customer, he’s only here, aha, to pick up a painting, this painting.” Leonardo cast about and picked up a random scroll. “And he’ll be on his way. What can I do for you?” 

Giovanni grimaced. “Leonardo, thank you, but the Altezza and I are well-acquainted.” 

“Oh. Well, why didn’t you say so?” Leonardo relaxed, smiling brightly. Giovanni wanted to thank him, but he didn’t want to give Lorenzo any more reason to hurt the young man if Lorenzo was so inclined. 

Outside, Giovanni was relieved to see that all of the guards were mounting up. If they’d lingered, he’d have balked at getting into the carriage with Lorenzo. “How did you know I was here?” Giovanni asked, once they were on their way. 

Lorenzo sniffed. “Please. You’re not the only tool at my disposal.” His tone was cold. Giovanni winced. 

“Altezza—”

“So I leave Firenze and return to find Uberto murdered, by a ghost, according to his retainers.” 

“And you decided that meant me?” 

“I don’t believe in ghosts. But I do know very few people who can slip through a securely patrolled villa and kill only its master, with no one else the wiser.” 

“Uberto was my friend.” 

“And was he still your friend at the end?” 

“He conspired with Rodrigo Borgia to murder me and my family. I left the evidence in your study.” 

“Yes, I saw the reports on my desk. Your idea of subtlety, I presume, leaving them where anyone could find and read them.” 

“I suppose I could have left them on your bed,” Giovanni said, because he could read the signs. Lorenzo was furious, his hands clenched over his robed lap, his lips thinned in his ascetic face. So Giovanni leaned forward, to press his palm over Lorenzo’s knee, stroking. When Lorenzo merely stared at him, Giovanni braced himself against the side of the carriage and shifted further, only for Lorenzo to press his palm against Giovanni’s mouth. 

“You would dare,” Lorenzo said, and the steel in his voice quickened Giovanni’s blood and knotted his stomach in equal measure. Giovanni waited. He didn’t have long to wait: Lorenzo palm shifted to his shoulder, pushing him down. Gratefully, Giovanni went down on his knees. 

Giovanni navigated Lorenzo’s robes and underclothes with the efficiency of practice, his own breathing growing shallow with anticipation as the carriage rattled underneath. They wouldn’t have long, even through streets crowded by the afternoon, especially if they were going to squeeze over the Arno. He could hear snatches of interrupted conversation outside, gasps and whispers as people recognised the Medici crest. There would be an altogether different sort of reaction if they could see him like this, hauling Lorenzo’s knees over his shoulders, breathing deeply as he bared his master’s cock. 

Before Giovanni could press his mouth to it, Lorenzo dug fingers into Giovanni’s hair, tipping up his head to study his eyes. Love and devotion were indeed cruel. Giovanni met Lorenzo’s eyes, unflinching. Waiting. He would have waited forever for a taste if he had to, for the chance of more. 

Lorenzo shuddered, his hand tightening in Giovanni’s hair. Whatever he saw had thankfully been enough. He tugged, and Giovanni obeyed, kissing the stiffening tip, then obligingly feeding the thickening cap into his mouth as Lorenzo growled and tugged again. The hidden blade he pressed to Lorenzo’s thigh, but if Lorenzo noticed, he didn’t care, hissing as Giovanni sucked him down, eager for what he could get. 

The world narrowed to a focus of one, Giovanni’s guard as helpless against Lorenzo as the it had always had been, even at the beginning, when he had fished a sodden child in bedraggled brocade out of the Arno. Around Lorenzo, Giovanni’s world had always grown small. It felt trite to call what he felt love or devotion. Better to name it in terms of what it did to him. What Giovanni felt around Lorenzo was his ruin, the enemy of duty, the awry drumbeat of madness. He choked himself with Lorenzo’s flesh and pressed his nose to coarse curls, breathing deeply again, hoarse.

Lorenzo never bothered to move. He preferred to watch as Giovanni worked to please him, bobbing up and down, wedging the thick shaft down his throat with each swallow. Giovanni’s erection pressed against his breeches, but he ignored it, sucking harder. He was probably being too loud, but he didn’t care about that either. He could hear Lorenzo’s breathing hitch into soft, stifled panting, then he startled as he felt Lorenzo’s shoe press between his thighs, against his balls, rubbling lightly. Giovanni whined with his mouth full, then started to moan as Lorenzo chuckled. 

Giovanni’s jaw was aching by the time Lorenzo made a tiny, harsh sound and thrust up into his mouth, an involuntary twitch of his hips that ended in a drawn-out sigh. Giovanni drank down what he could and choked on the rest, pulling away, wiping his mouth and throat. Lorenzo raised his eyebrows, still not bothering to move. The carriage had come to a stop. Lorenzo tilted his head. By the sounds outside, they’d arrived at Lorenzo’s palazzo.

“Well?” Lorenzo prompted, annoyed, when Giovanni didn’t move, and Giovanni grinned, shaking his head, bending again to lick his master clean. They were somewhat more composed by the time they reached Lorenzo’s study, and when Lorenzo waved the guards away, leaving them alone, Giovanni pulled Lorenzo into his arms and kissed him hard on the mouth. 

Lorenzo never allowed him very many liberties. As he’d thought, Lorenzo wouldn’t submit to the kiss, pushing him away with a glower. “You taste terrible. Wash out your mouth.” 

Giovanni walked over to the basin in Lorenzo’s chambers, obeying, though he grinned as he did so. “By my master’s _pleasure_.” 

“You overstep yourself, as usual.” Lorenzo settled at his desk. “Is your family safe?” When Giovanni hesitated, eyeing him, Lorenzo frowned. “Have I ever given you any reason not to trust me? You’ve known me almost all of my life.”

“No, Altezza. Yes, they’re safe.” 

“In Monteriggioni, I presume.” When Giovanni made a show of drying his hands, Lorenzo curled his lip. “So there is a problem between us.” 

“The guards that came for my family were from the Medici.” 

“You’re not the only person who made the mistake of trusting Uberto. He arranged for it. Forged a missive in my hand. The intention, no doubt, was to have you consent to be arrested, and then tried and hung for treason before I could return to Firenze to put a stop to it.”

“It would probably have worked, if I didn’t have my family’s safety to consider.” If it had just been Giovanni, he would have unhesitatingly put himself in Lorenzo’s mercy to clear his name.

“It’s a good thing you weren’t that gullible.”

“Being trusting is a virtue.”

“That’s what you think. It’s a flaw. I don’t trust anyone.” Lorenzo flicked fingers in a dismissive gesture.

“Not even me, Altezza?” Giovanni asked, playful, striding over to lean his hip against Lorenzo’s desk. “I’m hurt.” 

“Especially you. And not only because you’ve killed in my name.” Lorenzo didn’t reach out to touch Giovanni. He didn’t need to. “So what now? If you have something to say, say it. Don’t waste my time.”

“You’re the one who scooped me up in the middle of my business.” 

“Out with it.” 

There wasn’t really a choice to make. Or if there had been one, he’d made it instinctively, the moment he’d seen Lorenzo sweep into Leonardo’s workshop as though he owned the world and everything in it. Giovanni reached for Lorenzo’s palm, bending to kiss his ring. When he straightened up, Lorenzo let out a breath, some of the tension in his shoulders loosening. A tiny crack in his master’s steel. 

“Rodrigo saw fit to come personally to talk Uberto into getting rid of you. Perhaps some part of your friendship was true enough to give him pause.”

“Friendship or not, he _did_ move against me. And my family.” Giovanni tried not to relax. It was difficult. Did falcons learn to crave the falconers’ touch? After all, once in the air, they were free. Something greater than easy food had to draw them back, to allow themselves to be blinded and caged. 

“According to this document, Uberto’s had a string of recent dealings with the Pazzi. I want you to investigate that. If the Pazzi are moving against my interests, they’re reckless enough to try something heavy-handed.” 

“Yes, Altezza.” Giovanni pushed away from the desk. He’d have to head to the Pazzi villa in Firenze. Break in, maybe. He knew how—

“Giovanni.” Lorenzo had risen to his feet. He straightened Giovanni’s collar, then grasped his arm, turning it up to bare the blade mechanism. Giovanni demonstrated its use, flexing his wrist, the spring-loaded blade snapping out, then back into its sheath. “Interesting,” Lorenzo said, “if you don’t cut off your fingers.”

“That young man whose workshop you found me in has ensured that it won’t.” 

“I’m aware of Leonardo. Who do you think his teacher’s patron is?” 

“You’re going to bankrupt yourself single-handedly bankrolling this art renaissance of yours,” Giovanni said, an old argument that Lorenzo waved off with an irritated gesture. 

“Wars are remembered for their barbarity. Art, however. Leonardo is a promising young man, though I can’t say his paintings will ever be worth very much. He has the attention span of a child.” Lorenzo pressed his thumb to the spring in the blade mechanism, frowning. 

“Altezza…”

“I’m glad that you’re here,” Lorenzo said quietly, without meeting his eyes. “Whatever the reason. Even if it’s your strange Creed.”

“The Creed aligns with your interests, and always has,” Giovanni said, his final lie for the day. 

Lorenzo’s interests had never aligned with Giovanni’s Order, save very tangentially: Lorenzo’s ruthlessness sometimes shocked even Mario. But it was in Lorenzo’s nature to be merciless, even here, demanding Giovanni’s fealty without bothering to say the words. Lorenzo smiled. He knew Giovanni was lying—he had to know. Yet it was not in his nature to gloat. In victory, grace. Lorenzo cupped Giovanni’s cheek with the palm that bore the ring Giovanni had kissed, pressing his thumb to Giovanni’s lips.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent.tumblr.com  
> \--  
> Yes Lorenzo's comment about how Leonardo's paintings will never sell for a lot of money is in reference to the sale of Salvator Mundi, that sold recently for $450mil even though people aren't even 110% sure whether it really is a da Vinci. XD;;


End file.
